


What Sherlock Doesn't Know Can't Hurt Him

by The_johnlock_life



Category: johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Hurt John, John is a Bit Not Good, M/M, Self-Harm, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:43:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5178917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_johnlock_life/pseuds/The_johnlock_life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John tries so hard to keep this part of him a secret, and it's worked. until now. </p>
<p>trigger warning: self-harm, not too graphic but present through out</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love is all you need

Sherlock was observant, John knew that more than most, so he didn't expect his little secret to go unnoticed for so long.

Sherlock simply ignored the way John doesn't own a single short sleeved shirt, doesn't notice his absent minded pulling down of his sleeves.

Laying in his bed, John smiled sadly to himself; Sherlock's not as great as he’d like to imagine, he thought. Although John didn’t want Sherlock to know, hell he’d do anything to have him not know, he just wished someone would notice. It wasn’t attention he wanted, no, just help.

Support. From the one man he trusted with his life.

Looking over at his clock and seeing it was 4am, John realised any attempt to get to sleep now would be futile. Listening carefully, he silently waited for any sound of Sherlock. None.

He’s probably asleep or at Barts, John thought. Even so, he levered himself slowly from his bed and tiredly went towards the shower, without making a sound. Once he was in the bathroom, he took off his long sleeved pyjamas and looked at himself in the mirror.

As he did this he winced, but not before thinking that he deserved much worse.

Cuts and scars lined his arms, inside and out, but they weren't as deep as he knew he needed. Pushing these out of his mind, he stepped into the shower and let himself wallow in his dark thoughts.

He didn't intend on getting out any time soon.

Sherlock lay there in his own room which was just below Johns. 4am.

Looking around he could see flitters of light creeping through the blinds, highlighting the messy floor. As sherlock looked around, a sound from above him disrupted his thought process.

John is never awake at this time, he thought. He probably assumed the taller was at Barts, yet he still made a good effort to be quiet.

As he heard Johns bathroom door close gently, he thought about the smaller man. Over the past few weeks, he had been paying closer attention to John. He noted how his own stomach fluttered every time the man laughed, every time he walked past. His beautiful smile brought light to Sherlocks life, made everything less boring.

Yet, more recently, Sherlock had noticed how Johns smile no longer reached his eyes, how he was becoming quieter and quieter, as if unsure of himself. Sherlock found himself intrigued in this mystery, though not in the way he was with a murder.

No, he wanted to know John, he wanted to help his friend. His only friend that he now suspected he felt a little more for. But more than anything, he wanted John to trust him completely.

After a good three quarters of an hour in the shower, John grudgingly got out.

He avoided looking in the mirror, he knew he'd just be ashamed.

As he stepped out of the bathroom and towards his wardrobe, a shiny object caught his eye on the side of his bed.

He knew what it was and knew he shouldn't, but without even thinking he started walking towards it, as if an invisible force was drawing him in. Sitting down on his bed, he picked up the steak knife he’d bought a few months ago and turned over his arm.

He deserved this, he thought.

As he put the serrated blade to his wrist, he let the bad thoughts come rushing in.

Sherlock doesn't even like you, no one does. Theres a reason your dad hit you. Theres a reason your mum left you. It's always your fault.

As he pressed harder he dragged the blade across again and again.

Repeating this 5 times, he shoved the blade under his pillow. A bead of blood had began to form on each of the cuts and, as it began to trickle down his arm, he headed towards the bathroom.

After he washed away the blood and wiped the tears from his eyes, he put on his longest jumper, smacked on a fake smile, and made his way upstairs.

John should be out by now, sherlock mused as he sat in his usual chair in the living room.

That was when he heard the bathroom door open and close again. Peculiar, why would John have to go in there twice. Hearing John emerge from his room a few minutes later, Sherlock realised he had to look busy. Putting his hands gently in their usual steeple position under his chin and closing his eyes, Sherlock waited.

As he sat there, he heard John breathe a small sigh of relief at the fact that his roommate wasn't looking at him. He heard John head over to the kettle and cracked open his eyes.

John turned around with that smile that didn't reach his eyes and simply said “fancy a cup?"

Sherlock nodded, trying not to look as if he was scanning John for any clues.

By now, Sherlock had realised John was better at reading people than he gave him credit for, and was also extremely difficult to read himself. As John handed over Sherlocks cup and sat next to him on the sofa, Sherlock glanced over.

Johns face portrayed nothing, yet his body language told Sherlock that something was wrong. Without even thinking about it, he put his cup down and let his emotions take over.

Hugging John with no intention of ever letting go was more than Sherlock could ever have said.

At first, John was astounded at this sudden gesture of kindness from his flatmate, the sociopath, Sherlock Holmes.

But, as he felt the emotion flood into him once more, he melted into the embrace, no longer being able to hold back his tears. As Sherlock wrapped him ever tighter in this warm embrace, John let sobs wrack through his body. His arms shaking and slow tears beginning to drop down his face, yet one thing couldn't leave his mind.

Did Sherlock know? He cant know, theres no possible way. He would have confronted him by now. Right? 

As John leant into the hug and began to sob, Sherlock felt utterly useless.

He wished more than anything in the world he could help the one man he loved. Yet, embracing John in this way made his stomach flutter. These feelings were going to have to be pushed aside for now though, John needed him.

He was certain John wasn't going to say anything about what was wrong, at least not without a prompt. But, without even the vaguest idea what was wrong, this was the most Sherlock could do.

As the shaking and crying subsided, John pulled away from Sherlock slowly.

“th-tha” John began to stutter, but Sherlock knew how hard it was to articulate in any situation where you feel upset, so he pressed a long finger to Johns quivering lips.

“shhhh” he said “its okay. It really is” he took a deep breath as John looked at him with puffy eyes that he couldn't possibly read. Fear? Perhaps.

“I am fully aware that whatever is wrong with you is clearly something important. I am here to tell you that I am always here for you, John Hamish Watson, whenever you need me. As a shoulder to cry on or whatever you may want. I just need you to know that you can fully trust me.”

As he said those final words, a smile of the love he’d been dying to express filled his face, immediately spreading to his eyes.

As John looked up, he was smiling.

Not an empty smile that the ones of recent days were, but one openly returning the love Sherlock had just expressed. Leaning forward, he pressed a warm, loving kiss onto Sherlocks lips.

Caught in the moment, they both embraced again, passionately working their ways around the others mouths. John began to fiddle with the buttons on Sherlocks suit and, eventually, they came undone. Sliding the jacket off and onto the floor, they fell onto the sofa.

But, when Sherlock came to remove Johns jumper, John flinched away, a sudden fear in his eyes.

Sitting upright with a slight struggle both men looked at each other.

John looked ashamed.

“I’m sorry Sherlock…I just… I can’t”. 

And then he began to whimper softly again and the taller man took him in his arms once more.

“It's okay” he whispered into his hair, “It's fine”.

After an uneventful day, aside from the kiss of course, of Sherlock hugging John and reassuring him, both men realised it was late.

When getting up, John apologised to Sherlock and planted a soft kiss on his lips. Sherlock smiled into it, finally happy that they were both on the same page. They both parted their ways, John into his room and Sherlock down the hall into his.

As Sherlock lay in his bed, he replayed the days events. He was giddy with love and joy, yet still the sadness was bubbling inside him.

Why wasn't John happy? Why had he flinched away?

It couldn't be his war scars, no, he was proud of them.

At least sherlock thought he was.

He chose to try not to mull it over too much until he had had a good rest and then he could think about it in the morning, with a clear head.

He slipped into a peaceful sleep, filled with images of John and him.

John, however, was not so content.

Of course he was overjoyed with the idea of Sherlock, Sherlock bloody Holmes, feeling the same way about him.

Heck, it was the best feeling ever.

Yet, repressing the happy feeling that had let Sherlock slip into such an easy sleep, was the guilt.

He knew he should've said something.

Sherlock probably hates him for it now.

Just as he was about to let another tear trickle down his face, he thought no. He'd already wallowed enough for today.

As sherlock slept above him blissfully, John slept restlessly, his head filled with nightmares of just letting that blade slip across his wrist one final time. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is in a world of his own, and that can't end well.

That very morning, both men were up early.

Sherlock, thrilled but upset with the events of the previous evening, was sitting in his chair, waiting for the shorter man to come down the stairs.

John, however, was sitting on his bed, the very blade of his nightmares in his hand.

Sherlocks phone went off and John could just about hear a muffled voice coming from downstairs, but he was in too much of a daze to hear it properly. Having already made 5 cuts, which was his usual stopping point, he felt as if he deserved more.

Muffled steps began racing up the stairs. John still wasn't paying attention. His jumper was off and lay in a crumpled heap at his side.

Another three quick slashes.

The blood had started to drip down his arm.

“John” Sherlock called “Lestrade has a-” he couldn't finish that sentence.

As he had flung open the door to Johns room, as he had done many times before, his breath had been taken away. Trying to recover and make sense of the sight in front of him, Sherlock took a quick intake of breath.

John couldn't bring himself to look up. 

Sherlock stared.

He didn't know what else to do as he took in the sight that lay before him. Row after row of scars and cuts. Some faded, some angry red and 8 dripping with crimson blood.

His eyes flashed to the steak knife in the others hand.

How could he have not noticed before. And he called himself a detective.

Stop being so selfish and do something, he told himself. His mind racing into action, he slowly walked forward and gently pried the blade from Johns grip. Taking John by the hand, Sherlock guided him into the living room, where he placed him in his usual seat, right opposite Sherlocks.

Quickly yet as calmly as he could manage, he made his way to the kitchen, throwing the serrated knife into the sink with a shaking hand and grabbing the first aid kit.

John didn't know what to do.

He never expected sherlock to find out this way.

When the taller man barged into his room, John was paralysed.

He knew Sherlock was assessing the situation, absorbing every small detail.

As the long, white fingers pulled his fingers away from the knife, he didn't try to resist. Without looking up, he let his partner guide him to his chair.

He felt like it was a dream.

Without even turning round to look into the kitchen, he knew sherlock was grabbing the first aid kit. He was having trouble focussing, knowing reality was slipping from him. Too much blood loss, was his final thought before he passed out.

He should know, he was a doctor.

Turning back towards the living room, first aid kit in his hand, Sherlocks heart stopped.

His partner sat limp in his chair.

In two quick, long strides, Sherlock crossed the kitchen and reached his flatmate whose arm was entirely stained in blood. Dropping to the floor, Sherlock grabbed Johns other arm and felt for a pulse.

Relief washed over him as he felt it.

Ripping open the first aid kit he got the antiseptic wipes and cleaned the wounds. Splitting open the seal of the bandages with his teeth, he wrapped Johns entire forearm, not wanting to take any risks.

His heart still racing he noticed, as he grabbed a glass from the cupboard. Filling it up, he realised he was still shaking. Taking a sip of the water himself, he reassured himself that everything was going to be okay.

Placing the water next to John, he sat in his own chair.

As his nerves were calmed, he looked over all the times that this was made obvious. So obvious. How could he miss it. John only wore jumpers. He always pulled his sleeves down. How could he be so unobservant.

One word floated around in his head, why?

John had always seemed so happy. As much as he hated the thought, he was going to have to confront it.

He spent the next half hour trying to figure out the nicest possible way.

Half an hour later, John regained consciousness.

Before he even had time to think or properly open his eyes, one word came to his lips.

“Sherlock” he said quietly.

He couldn't hear any movement.

Cracking open his eyes at last, he said “Sherlock” again, slightly louder.

Sherlock heard this time and dragged himself out of his own thoughts. Getting up from his experiment in the kitchen, he strode over and pecked John on the lips. He looked confused.

“It’s okay” sherlock said, and thats when reality came crashing down on John.

Looking down at his blood soaked bandaged arm, a solitary tear trickled down his face.

“I’m so sorry” he whispered “I had no right to put this on you. You shouldn't have ever fo-”

Pressing another kiss to Johns lips to silence him, Sherlock whispered “You shouldn't be sorry, its my fault. I had no right to let you suffer alone all this time. I'm so sorry John” he managed to get out before his baritone voice cracked.

Regaining his calm, Sherlock ventured “I know you only just recovered, but, may I ask, how long has it been that you have…” Sherlock gestured to Johns arms.

Shamefully, John said “it started when I was 13. My dad was hitting me, saying it was all my fault. My mum had left us and so had Harry, and it was all my fault. By the time I was 16 I had stopped, that was when I moved out. But, about 4 months ago I…” and he broke down.

Sherlock was stunned to silence, which anyone who knew him knew it was a rarity.

He was staring, searching for the perfect words to convey how he felt, but he came out empty handed. All he wanted to do was hold John and never let go. Tell him he was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

That he saved him.

But he couldn't bring himself to move.

He had wondered why John had always been so quiet and sad on cases where the victim had committed suicide. But Sherlock had always just assumed that was just sentiment or something.

How could he not have known.

13.

Too young.

As Sherlock thought that this could've caused a life without John, he too began to sob. Leaning over to John, Sherlock held him. No words were uttered for 10 minutes. 

As John began to calm himself, Sherlock straightened up. Both their eyes were red and their bodies were raw with emotion. Though they sat up, he never let go of Johns hands, for fear of loosing the one perfect thing in his life.

Feeling guilty for bringing up the subject again, but needing to know, Sherlock timidly asked “why now?” 

After a deep breath John braced himself and muttered shamefully, “because, a few months ago, thats when I realised I had feelings for you. And when I noticed you didn’t.”

Sherlock opened his mouth immediately to object, but he changed his mind as he did want to break Johns flow.

“When I noticed you, the best and only consulting detective in the world, didn't care that I was doing it, that only furthered my reasoning. You didn't care, I told myself. Even if I died, there was not a single person on earth who loved me”

“But i do John. and I swear on my own life that I will do everything in my power to give you all the help you want and need. I will always be here for you.” Sherlock said, a tear rolling down his face in disbelief.

Of course he loved John.

As he took Johns hands and steadily pulled them both up, he said “oh and, by the way, it was about 5 months ago that I realised I had feelings for you too” Sherlock couldn't help but smile at the light this brought to Johns eyes “and I always will. I am so sorry for my ignorance, you will never know how sorry I am. I suppose I just didn't expect, well, this.” Sherlock said honestly. 

John nodded, understanding as ever, and their night ended with them entangled in each other on the sofa, their faces filled with love and understanding, even in sleep. And, for the first time in as long as he could remember, John had no nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah! i hope you enjoyed it, feel free to check out my tumblr: http://legendwaitforitdarymoonpie.tumblr.com


	3. sadness and smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadness and smut, when they finally decide what's best

“Where do you want to start” Sherlock said.

He had allowed a few weeks to pass in order for John to ready himself. Now he knew what was really wrong and understood the situation, he was eager to help as soon as he could. John sighed but nodded.

“Honestly, I have no bloody idea” he said with a chuckle, a bit of light springing briefly to his eyes.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile giddily.

“Where do you think?” he asked Sherlock. Sherlock furrowed his brow, scouring his mind palace for the usual place to start with this situation. Nothing.

“How about throwing away you blades?” John looked petrified. “If thats okay with you” Sherlock said hurriedly, not wanting to upset John and ruin their new found relationship. The fear receded from Johns eyes. Determinedly he nodded, taking Sherlocks hand and standing straight, to attention, Sherlock noticed.

Of course. He was going to be brave the only way he new how. Sherlock gently squeezed Johns hand, wordlessly telling him that he understood.

Slowly but surely, John led the way and Sherlock let himself be guided slowly, not pushing John any more than was required. 

After a few minutes, they had reached Johns room.

Sherlock saw Johns jaw tighten and his shoulders tense. He nodded sharply.

Sherlock took the door handle and twisted, and couldn't even imagine how hard this must be.

How he loved him.

As the door swung open, it was as if they'd returned to the scene of a crime. Specks of blood trailed along the floor where John was unable to clean them up.

“Do you want me to get them or do you want to?” Sherlock queried, admirably looking over at John. Although Sherlock already knew the answer, he wanted to let John say it.

“You” he whispered, letting go of his hand.

He pointed to his desk drawer. Silently Sherlock strode over to the bedside table.

“In here?” he said as he touched the handle of the drawer.

John gave a small nod of affirmation.

Slowly, Sherlock opened the drawer. He was taken back, though he didn't know what else he expected.

He supposed he just didn't expect it to be this bad. 

Multiple razors and steak knives lay neatly in the drawer, dried blood on one.

That was the one he’d seen John use.

He could feel John watching him, taking in his reactions to his darkest secret. He couldn't bring himself to pick them up as emotion welled up inside him. As unfamiliar as this was, Sherlock chose to embrace it rather than fight it as he usually would and wandered over to John.

John looked up at Sherlock, a slightly confused look on his face. At this moment, Sherlock simply hugged John tight and whispered “I’m so sorry John”.

Just before John had another sob rip through him, which would no doubt cause Sherlock to cry too, Sherlock let go. Striding back over to the drawer he snatched up the blades and put them in a black bin bag. 

Johns eyes had glazed over and Sherlock knew better to disturb him when he was this deep in emotion.

He knew John wasn’t paying attention to him, hell he himself did that all the time.

Sherlock let his partner get lost in the memories of his troubled past and perched himself on the corner of the bed, not permitting himself to look back into the bag, as much as he wanted to. Sherlock looked around Johns room for a few minutes, noticing how pristine everything was. Clearly something John couldn’t drop from the army.

He smiled; John was his little soldier.

After this, he began observing John.

It was as if he was re-living a nightmare. His face was contorted in a strange pain, his body flinching.

Soon he began shaking. This is when worry start to cross Sherlocks mind.

John started gasping for breath, dropping to the floor. Rocketing up, Sherlock reached down. Thats when it hit him.

PTSD.

John was having an attack.

Touching his shoulder lightly, Sherlock managed to pull John out of his daze. Johns eyes snapped up to him with a fear Sherlock had never seen, and never wanted to see again.

It was as if John was looking at him but seeing something completely different.

He reached his arm around John and hugged him loosely, pressing soft kisses into his temple.

“Sir, no, save Corporal Willson.”

Astounded, Sherlock realised how horrific re-living that kind of trauma must be. And John did it all the time.

A solitary tear made its way down Sherlocks face.

Beginning to reassure John, he finally resurfaced, though he was still incredibly shaken. Understandably. After a few minutes of breathing, John composed himself and recovered.

He knew Sherlock understood.

“I’m sorry” he said, but Sherlock merely smiled. Not a mocking smile, but a kind one, filled with love and affection.

Love and affection for him.

Before he could stop himself, though neither man minded, John leaned into Sherlock, kissing him passionately on the lips. Dropping the bag in his hands, Sherlock held the back of Johns head, running his hands through his sandy blond hair.

As the kiss became more heated, both men gasping for breath, John made his way to Sherlocks shirt.

Unbuttoning it slowly, his hands still shaking slightly, he slipped it off. Thats when the thought hit him.

He didn't want to do this now.

Well he wanted to, but physically couldn’t.

But he had to, Sherlock would hate him if he didn’t. It’ll ruin their new relationship.

He thought this whilst kissing, but Sherlock knew something was wrong. He knew John wasn't in the right physical or psychological state to do this, and knew John was fully aware of this also. So why was he so intent on carrying on?

Pulling away from the kiss, with extreme difficulty, Sherlock said “you don't have to do this for me John. I'm not even sure if I'm ready yet, and I love you too much to put you through this when you can barely stay awake” he added when he saw Johns eyes close for slightly longer than could be passed off as a blink. Sherlock pulled John up onto his bed and whispered “wait here, I’ll be back.”

Grabbing the bin bag, Sherlock rushed into the kitchen and put the contents into the bin. He kept all the days event logged carefully into his mind palace, not wanting to forget a single detail.

Not for his own benefit, no, but for once he actually wanted to help someone.

Sentiment.

It wasn't half as bad as he thought it would be. Though that was no surprise, for the past few years he had been feeling like this towards John more anyways.

As Sherlock made his way upstairs, John lay in his bed.

One small phrase that Sherlock had blurted out and thought nothing of a few minutes ago was floating around in his mind.

“I love you.” he smiled giddily as he remembered the face Sherlock had made when he said it. It had come so naturally to him he never even noticed.

As Sherlock opened Johns door and strode across the room, John admired his perfect stature. He was like a god, he thought.

Sherlock looked at him questioningly, and John realised he was still smiling, which seemed rather wildly inappropriate considering the day they’d shared. But he couldn't help it. John patted the bed next to him and Sherlock got the hint.

They lay, limbs interwind, and before John could drift off into a relatively blissful sleep he whispered “I love you too.”

Sherlock woke up after his blissful slumber, fully content with life for the first time in what he felt to be forever. He felt Johns soft breathing against his neck and pleasant shivers wracked down his spine.

Contorting his body slightly as to get a better look at John but not wake him, Sherlocks breath was taken away.

Never before had he seen John so peaceful, his face squashed against the pillow in a peaceful sleep.

Beautiful, Sherlock thought.

Well, at least he thought he thought it.

John tried to fight back the smile that was playing on his lips in his attempt to continue his sleeping facade.

Sherlock noticed this immediately and whispered “I said that out loud, didn't I” with a blush.

John opened his eyes slightly and nodded, the smile he had fought earlier spreading across his face. Sherlock, without realising, smiled giddily and chuckled.

That was the effect John Watson had on him.

That laugh drove John over the edge, and he reached up to kiss the taller man, starting softly but gaining passion and hunger as it went on.

Both their cocks had become hard under their trousers, the arousal completely apparent. John pulled away from Sherlock slightly, for breath and to look at Sherlocks beautifully flushed face.

“God you're stunning” John breathed.

John then began kissing down Sherlocks neck, sucking slightly to prove that he was his. Sherlock moaned airily and pulled his own t-shirt off, hungry for more.

As John made his way lower with delicate kisses, Sherlock gradually got more aroused, his cock now fully erect and straining against his silky trousers.

On his way down, John stripped Sherlock of his trousers. Just as they were flung across the room, John licked Sherlocks hard nipple, earning himself a moan from Sherlock. John looked down and marvelled at the sight before him.

“Perfect” he whispered, before bringing a hand down to stroke Sherlocks length. Sherlock shuddered slightly and he was suddenly aware that he wasn't going to last long.

Exasperated, Sherlock warned John, “John…I won't be able to…Hold on for long…” he breathed between moans.

“Its fine, just enjoy it” John said, the grin and hunger apparent in his voice.

He was now facing Sherlocks cock, and it took his breath away.

Recovering quickly, he swirled his pre-cum around the head. Sherlock grabbed Johns sandy blond hair, egging him on.

Smiling, John began to take in sherlocks length, his tongue doing wondrous things. Sherlock couldn't tear his eyes away, his panting faster than ever.

Suddenly, Sherlock felt it.

Complete and utter euphoria.

He could only muster a, rather loud, “John!” in warning before he came into Johns mouth. John swallowed obediently and began making his way back up to the top of the bed where Sherlock slumped, body exhausted.

John lent in and kissed Sherlock gently, bringing the man to his senses slightly.

Opening his eyes, he said “that was utterly amazing John” punctuated by a kiss. “I love you” he said after their kiss, John grinned and said “I love you too, Sherlock.You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that” he chuckled. 

This was when Sherlocks attention was drawn from Johns entrancing eyes and further south, to Johns still-throbbing erection which was apparent through his trousers. John followed sherlocks gaze and pulled the detectives chin up so they were looking at each other.

As Sherlock looked into Johns eyes he saw embarrassment, guilt, apology. Why?

Before Sherlock could ask, John whispered “I'm sorry love, I just can't let you see my, well my legs. Because of um, the reason we’re here in the first place I suppose.”

A singular tear trickled down his face, which Sherlock kissed away, its salty taste expanding on his lips.

“It's okay” he said, “I fully understand. I just don't want to seem selfish.”

John chuckled at this and said “well, theres a first” followed by a wink, to lighten the mood, though his own attention was still focussed on his hard cock. Clearing his throat, he said “I’m going to,um, take care of myself…” earning a smirk from Sherlock.

His Sherlock. 

As John walked towards the bathroom sexily, albeit awkwardly, Sherlock snapped into reality.

How could he forget.

The self harm.

Sherlock sat there a few minutes, regaining his breath and balance, while also listening to Johns quiet moans of his name in the bathroom. Smirking, Sherlock stood up and walked towards the kitchen to get a glass of water. After doing so and downing it in one, Sherlock went and sat in his usual chair.

They needed to talk about this properly, and discuss what they were going to do to solve it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my first time writing smut, so sorry if it's terrible! i hope you enjoyed it, feel free to check out my tumblr: http://legendwaitforitdarymoonpie.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets more confident, luckily for Sherlock

Though John was trying to keep noise to a minimum during his wank, his eyes still burned with the image of pure pleasure on Sherlocks face, emitting low groans of Sherlocks name from his own lips.

He could practically see Sherlock smirking from behind the closed door.

Soon, though, he finished and went back into his room to find his lover (lover? Partner?) had left. John did not feel abandoned,however, as he knew Sherlock loved him.

Sherlock loved him.

John smiled giddily in spite of himself as he descended the stairs. 

Seeing Sherlock sat in his chair like usual made John feel slightly empty, as if his partner was trying to forget everything they'd just shared.

The flush on his cheeks and the love in his eyes gave him away though, and John visibly relaxed. He became aware they were going to have a conversation about the self harm, but for once he was okay with it. Because Sherlock wasn't going to leave.

Sherlock was going to help.

As he settled into his chair, John smiled at Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't even try to hide the smile that forced its way onto his own face, this was a friendly chat anyway, not an intimidating one.

“Now John, what course of action do you want to take?” Sherlock said, never taking his eyes off of Johns.

Clearing his throat first, John said “well, obviously therapists don't work for me so thats out, what do you think, I'm kind of at a loss right now and you no doubt know more than me."

Sherlock thought for a minute but ultimately reached the conclusion he knew he would.

“When I was on drugs” he began “Mycroft put me into a rehab clinic to help me get clean. As much as I hate to admit it, he was right and it did help. How about we try to get you into one?” John frowned, considering it for a while.

It did sound like a good idea.

“Perhaps. It does sound like something that could help.”

He saw sherlocks eyes brighten slightly at the idea he was willing to get help.

“But…” he murmured with embarrassment “well, as sappy as it sounds, I don’t want to be away from you.”

He looked down to shield himself from the embarrassment and humiliation that was no doubt coming his way.

Instead, Sherlock smiled fondly and lifted his chin up.

“I can stay with you if you want. We can ask Mycroft if he can arrange for us to stay together in a room there.”

Seeing a glimmer of fear flash across his soldiers face at the mention of Mycroft, he hastily said, “he doesn't have to know much, though I don't doubt he will deduce it anyway. We can tell him what you are comfortable with.”

John then stood up, a smile on his lips and sat delicately in Sherlocks lap.

“Thank you” he whispered before he drew Sherlock into a deep kiss.

Pulling back briefly, John whispered “can we give it a week please, I’m not ready yet.”

Sherlock nodded into Johns neck and held him tighter.

After their first sexual adventure 2 days ago, John tried to be more confident with his body.

It started with simple things, like wearing shorts, not wearing a jumper but a thin long sleeved top instead.

Neither of them mentioned it, they both pretended it was normal.

Sherlock was secretly intrigued to look at each of his scars and hear their stories, but John had only just gotten this comfortable around him and he wasn't about to jeopardise that.

2 days after this, John began wearing short sleeved shirts and often no trousers as he went about the flat.

Now sherlock was definitely intrigued, his arousal spiking every time he saw John.

Then, the next day, as Sherlock was sitting in his chair with a cup of tea sorting through his mind palace (or thinking about John, but no one needs to know that), John strutted into the room in only his pants, sat on Sherlocks lap, leaned into his ear and whispered “I’m ready.”

Sherlock was about to ask for what when he saw Johns boxers beginning to strain and felt his own trousers become increasingly tight.

Sherlock took Johns hand and guided him into his bedroom, turning to push him against the door and kiss him senseless.

Johns fingers worked their way down Sherlocks buttons, unbuttoning them with ease and eagerness.

The silk purple shirt dropped gracefully to the floor and John moved to Sherlocks trousers. They slipped off with ease and Sherlock broke the kiss to step out of them and open the door.

Sherlock proceeded to kiss and guide John to the bed which he had, thankfully, just made.

As they landed on the bed, John on top of Sherlock, they broke the kiss to admire one another. John took this opportunity to strip Sherlock of his pants, the task slightly more difficult due to his throbbing erection.

As the fabric went over Sherlocks cock, he gave a breathy moan, which John swallowed with more kisses.

John became once more consumed with their kissing, and Sherlock saw his chance and flipped them over, so he was on top of John.

He began kissing along Johns jaw, down his neck, slowly working his way towards the only thing that stood between him and Johns cock; those red pants.

Grabbing the fabric between his teeth,he teased them over Johns erection, eliciting a pornographic moan from John. Pleased with the reaction he had managed to get, Sherlock looked up at John and saw his eyes staring at him, clouded with lust.

That’s when the last of their self control disappeared, and John immediately pulled Sherlock up to give him an astounding kiss, whilst Sherlocks hand slid down between their bodies towards their erections, which were now pressed together. Even with his large hands, Sherlock barely managed to contain the both of them, John was so big.

As he began to stroke, he saw Johns head tip back as he muttered praises, gradually increasing in volume.

“Oh Sherlock, you beautiful, wonderful boy," he uttered as he looked at Sherlock, whose face was glistening with sweat.

“John, if you keep talking like that,I…I won't be able to carry on for much longer” he gasped between moans, “nor will I, love” John whispered.

“Come for me, my stunning man” and as he uttered those last few words, Sherlock shook and came, causing John to come, a sticky mess forming between them. Sherlock immediately collapsed on top of John, and with the last of his efforts, John kissed the top of his head and said “thank you," sending them both into a blissful sleep.

John expected the nightmares to go away that night, with his love with him, but they hit him with a vengeance.

Images of himself alone in the sand, sun beating down on him and a searing pain through his shoulder.

He tried calling out, but he couldn't speak, his throat was so dry.

Thats when he felt a shadow looming over him, causing a chill to go down his spine.

A warm hand grabbed him roughly by his injured shoulder, making him wail out in pain.

Then everything went black.

The next thing he could hear was the wisp of a whip, the only thing he heard before a blinding pain shot down his back as it collided with his skin, ripping his flesh apart. 

Sherlock had heard John begin talking in his sleep, and, as he watched, he saw John become more restless until he screamed.

Jumping up from the bed in fear, though he’d never admit that, he looked around for some idea of what to do.

Without thinking about it, he began to shake John, calling his name.

At this, John sat bolt upright, sweat beading on his forehead.

Immediately, John dived his hand under his pillow, searching for his gun, entirely forgetting they were in Sherlock’s room.

As Sherlock began to whisper soothing things to John, reality slowly dawned on him.

“Oh God Sherlock I’m so sorry. Fuck. I’m sorry” he whispered, exhausted as he made his way towards Sherlocks bathroom.

Sherlock reached out, about to touch John, when John quietly muttered “I thought everything would be okay.”

This was said so quietly Sherlock had to strain to hear it, and by the time he’d made sense of what John fully meant, John had closed the bathroom door. 

Once John locked the door, he slid down it, curled into a ball of shame and despair on the floor.

He heard Sherlock begin to shuffle towards the door and try to open it, to no avail, but he didn’t care.

He’d messed it up again.

He heard Sherlock slide down against the other side of the door and, after a few moments of silence, heard him utter “John, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter, it’s not your fault.”

John chocked back a gag and whispered, mortified, “I was going to shoot you Sherlock. That’s not okay. At all."


	5. John's safe now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It'll all be okay. 
> 
> Sorry it's not much and it's been a while since i've added to this, I've been having exams and tried to fit in some writing where I can. I hope it's okay

“John, it’s my fault. I shook you. Please just come out” Sherlock whispered, stress and anxiety creeping slightly into his voice.

John has been silent for 10 minutes.

“Please” he said desperately, realising there was no way of carrying on that sentence.

Leaning against the door, he whispered again, quieter a slight sob creeping in, “please.” A tear sprung to his eye and, when he’d just about given up hope, he heard the quiet click of the lock sliding back.

Almost immediately, he grabbed the door handle, falling through in an almost comical way, which earned him a tiny chuckle from John.

Recovering, Sherlock made his way over to the bath, which John had curled up inside.

“John I…” he began to say, when he saw the crimson beads on Johns wrist.

John caught his eye and hid his face in disappointment and shame.

Catching his chin, Sherlock guided Johns face to look at his and whispered, “it’s okay. A step back doesn’t mean this is the end. People have lapses all the time, and it doesn't make them any less of a strong person. I know it’s hard to see that now but, in time, you too will come to admire how strong you’ve been, and continue to be. Now come here my soldier” and with that Sherlock leant down, meeting Johns soft lips with a heartwarming kiss.

Once they both had to stop for air, John whispered, “tell Mycroft. This needs to end.”

Nodding, Sherlock took Johns hand and guided him out of the bath tub.

Slowly but surely, they made their way to the living room.

“Would you like to clean yourself up or should I?” Sherlock enquired, though he did desperately want to analyse the cut and see how much damage had been done, he wanted John to have the choice.

“I can see you want to,” John chuckled, “go for it.”

As he sat down in his chair, Sherlock went to get the first aid kit, suddenly having a sense of de ja vu, fortunately this wasn’t as terrifying as before.

He was prepared this time.

Making his way back over to John, first aid kit in hand, Sherlock realised the sense of pride he felt for his blogger.

For wanting the help to stop, even though this was an addiction.

He crouched down by Johns chair and took his arm gingerly, turning it wrist up.

Slowly he wiped away the drying blood to see the damage done.

Glancing up, he saw John staring down at him, his tired eyes trained on Sherlocks face.

Blushing slightly, Sherlock looked back down, trying to focus on his work.

Once he’d cleaned Johns arm, he looked over the cuts, determining their depth and length.

Not good.

He wrapped Johns arm up in a bandage and went to sit in Johns lap.

“I love you” Sherlock whispered in his ear, to which John replied, “I know, love. I love you too”

Once they had both had a coffee and woken themselves up, Sherlock walked over to John, who was sitting at the desk, and hugged him from behind, his lanky arms gracefully draping themselves over the smaller man. Smiling slightly, John leant his head and kissed Sherlocks hand.

“John,” Sherlock began tentatively, “I thought I should warn you, I am to be contacting Mycroft soon.”

John moved his head away from Sherlocks hand and rolled his neck, cracking it slightly.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’m off for a walk then. Do you want me to get us some drinks from speedy’s?”

Nuzzling into the top of Johns head, Sherlock whispered “yes please. And John, I’m proud of you.”

He then stood up, taking his arms off from John, allowing him to get up. John walked over to grab his coat, as snow was imminent, then gave a slight skip over to Sherlock to peck him on the lips before venturing out into the freezing streets of London. 

Once John left, Sherlock grabbed his phone and fiddled with it in his hands.

He could feel the lingering warmth of the kiss on his lips, causing him to smile slightly.

Looking down at his phone, he took a deep breath in.

Now to figure out what to say to Mycroft.

He unlocked his phone and went to contacts, all the while trying to devise what to reveal to Mycroft.

Not too much, John would hate him for it, but too little and Mycroft would either pry deeper or choose not to help. Which was already an extremely likely possibility.

Clicking the call button, Sherlock held the phone to his ear and wandered over to the window, looking out onto the frozen streets of London.

Finally, Mycroft picked up.

“Ah, brother mine, how very unlike you to call. To what shall I owe this honour?”

Ugh, this was going to be torturous. Do it for John, Sherlock thought.

“Hilarious, brother. I called to ask a favour of you.”

A beat.

“Not for me, before you ask. I wish to hear none of what I ask of you repeated, for Johns sake.”

“Naturally, brother dearest. Do you not trust me?”

“I think you know where I stand on that. Back to business. I trust you know about John and I’s” he struggled to find the right word “relationship.”

“Oh yes, am I to expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?”

“Mycroft, grow up. No, our relationship has, shall we say uncovered, a lot about John. He is an addict.”

Silence at the end of the line.

Then, “Unexpected. What drugs-“

“Not drugs, Mycroft. Self harm.”

Silence once more, but only for a beat.

“Ah, that makes more sense. But, brother dearest, how did you miss the signs?”

“No teasing Mycroft, this is no laughing matter. We require your services. We need to get John to a rehab clinic. This was at his request of course, oh and I shall be staying with him, so make sure we have a room for the both of us, if you don't mind.”

“Of course, Sherlock. Same one as yours was?”

“Yes. I’ll know my way around. No group therapy, that is not necessary.”

“Leave it with me.”

After a short amount of awkward silence, Sherlock whispered “Thank you” and hung up before Mycroft could tease him about that too.

As he glanced out the window, he saw John walking back, his breath misty and two steaming cups of hot chocolate in his hands.

Throwing his phone carelessly onto the sofa, Sherlock walked over and turned on the TV.

This would all end okay, he’d make sure of it. 

“God it’s cold out there” John declared as he entered the flat, ridding himself of his coat and shoes and shivering slightly.

Walking over to Sherlock, who was sat on the sofa, he kissed him on the lips and said “here you go love.”

A smile crept onto Sherlocks lips despite himself and, as he took the cup from Johns freezing hand, whispered “I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of hearing you say that.”

The beverage was slightly cooler than it could have been, due to the temperature outside, but it was still pleasant and both men downed theirs in a comfortable silence.

Taking the finished cup from Sherlock and placing it in the bin, John waddled back to his partner and cleared his throat.

“So, I trust you have asked Mycroft?” he queried.

“Yes, I didn’t divulge too much information don’t worry. It should all be sorted soon. We’re going to the place I went, and it was pleasant there, though my memories aren’t the fondest but I’m sure you understand that.”

He heaved himself from the sofa and dawdled over to where John was standing, clasping him in a warm embrace, “It’ll all be okay John. I’m always here with you and for you. Your past, present and future are my privilege to help with.”

Mumbling into Sherlocks shoulder, John said “Love you Sherlock.”

“I love you too John.”


	6. Battlefield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John ready himself for battle, and naturally Sherlock is there to help.

Packing was tiresome. They didn’t know how long they’d be there, so they were both bringing their entire wardrobes. For Sherlock this entailed many fine suits. Which John found simply fine, as Sherlock often didn’t know which one to pack, hence John declaring “why don’t you try them on?” Though a distraction for the packing, neither man was complaining as John simply ate Sherlock up with his eyes. Perhaps not as tedious as originally thought.

Sherlock caught onto this game quickly, naturally, and tried on many a suit, a mischievous look dancing in his spectacular eyes. Little did John know he’d saved the best for last.

“John, may I have your opinion on this suit” he declared as he strutted into the room.

Johns jaw dropped.

The black suit curled around his lean figure, creating sharp, crisp lines. It hugged his bum in a way John couldn’t even begin to fathom. And that shirt. The deep purple bringing out his eyes, and it was slightly too small, the buttons straining slightly.

“You know what,” John began as he prowled towards Sherlock “I’m not a fan. Actually, I think you should take off that monstrosity right now.”

Though Sherlock tried to stay nonchalant during Johns act, the bulge beginning to form in those perfect trousers betrayed him. John honed in on this and pounced.

“Maybe I should help you” he purred as he began to seductively undo the buttons on the blazer.

It slipped to the floor with ease, and John quickly moved on to the shirt. John teased around the buttons, taking longer than strictly necessary to complete the task.

“Oh John, please do stop being such a tease. You’ll drive me crazy.” Sherlock purred in his perfectly baritone voice, the vibrations resonating through John, causing him to push his lips to Sherlocks and hum in contented approval.

Gradually the kiss became more heated, Sherlock pushing John backwards onto the bed.

They fell onto it, one on top of the other, hungrily attacking one another with pure lust. Clothes were soon discarded, seen now as the enemy. They ground thirstily into one another, their erections pushed flush against each other between their heaving stomachs.

“John,” Sherlock breathed, “I want you in me. Now.”

The urgency in Sherlocks voice spurred him on, and he lubed up his fingers and slipped the first finger into Sherlock with practiced ease, and Sherlock’s breath left him in a moan as he pushed back onto Johns finger.

“Oh, Sherlock, if you keep on like this I don’t think there’ll be enough time for me to get inside of you.” John whispered dirtily into Sherlocks ear.

“Please John. Quickly.”

John slipped in another finger, scissoring Sherlock.

“I’m ready John,” Sherlock moaned, “please, I don’t care if it hurts.”

“Oh you dirty boy” John whispered, as he covered his neglected cock in lube, gasping at the touch.

He lined himself up with Sherlock and slid in, and oh it was ecstasy.

“John, move” Sherlock rasped.

John began to move, slowly at first and gaining speed and momentum until they were both gasping airy moans.

“John! John I’m going to!” Sherlock exclaimed as he came onto his stomach, untouched. The clench that rippled through his body set John off too, and he filled Sherlock up.

Collapsing on top of Sherlock, John whispered, “perhaps packing isn’t so boring after all.” 

After their little deviation, and a well deserved rest, both men proceeded to shower, which may have taken longer than strictly necessary, and got packing separately so as not to delay any further.

Sherlock was slightly sore, as he hadn’t been the most patient of people when it came to their sexual adventure, though he wouldn’t let John see it so he was determined to walk without a slight hobble and sit without a grimace. Unfortunately, John did notice, and knew he would both be concerned and torture him about his impatience to no avail.

He really should start giving him credit. Also, he really should get better at acting as his brother would soon be arriving and, though he would no doubt be able to deduce their activities of the day in a heartbeat anyway, he would rather not give his brother the satisfaction of being able to know his eagerness for such activities.

As he put the final pair of socks into his suitcase and zipped it shut, he heard John hobbling down the stairs, uneven with the weight of the suitcase.

“Sherlock, you nearly ready?” he queried as he placed the suitcase on the landing floor.

“Yes, won’t be a second.” he shouted, grabbing his heavy case and dropping it to the floor. He dragged it out and placed it by the front door, at the exact same time a car was heard puling up on the curb.

John was already by the window, naturally he was anxious.

Sherlock saw the fear enter Johns eyes briefly, so he whispered “John,” and Johns head turned to face his, their eyes interlocking in a moment of true love, “You’ve done so well getting this far. And I promise I’ll give you a present at the place” he said with a smirk. At this remark, the fear receded from Johns eyes and was replaced with complete trust.

A sharp knock at the door made them both snap out of their trance. Grabbing their suitcases, both men prepared themselves for what was to come and made their way down the stairs.

“Goodbye Mrs Hudson, we’ll be gone for a few days so don’t wait our return” Sherlock called out as he swung open the door to a stony faced Mycroft.

“Ah, brother mine, simply wonderful to see you” he declared, laden with sarcasm.

“Oh grow up Mycroft” Sherlock spat back.

“Come on now, lets be civil. Hi Mycroft, thank you for this."

“Anything for my baby brother.” He declared with underlying sincerity.

They began to make the short walk to the black car which awaited them, but to John it seemed to take a million years.

He could do this.

It was for the best.

He went out of his little day dream to see Sherlock beckoning him towards the car, holding out a hand for him. Taking it, for John didn’t care how weak he looked right now, he needed it, John stepped into the car and didn't look back.

The car was shrouded in an awkward silence, John still clutching Sherlocks hand, as they began the long journey to the rehab centre.

He felt sick.

Sherlock could feel Johns hand getting clammy with panic, and leaned over. “Not long now,” he whispered, “and I’ll reward you when we get there,” he added with a smirk.

Though clearly this exchange was not quiet enough, as both men looked over to see Mycroft's face scrunch up at the implications of this.

After this exchange, there was no talking, save for Mycroft saying “We should be there soon” when they were 10 minutes away.

Time appeared to slow down, the car journey taking forever, until they drove into the car park.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, John left the car and looked at the building he was to call home for an indefinable amount of time.

The building was small and only two stories high, a house in essence. The wooden doors were both welcoming and terrifying at the same time, as they signified Johns saviour and the unfathomable.

As if he could read Johns mind, which was hardly a surprise, Sherlock said “I know how you feel. It’s how I was the first time I came here too. You can never know what to expect, but as someone who has been here, I can safely say it does a lot of good, and the rules are extremely relaxed.”

Walking round to the back of the car, John said “Well, that’s always good to know.” Swinging the luggage out of the boot with ease, still in peak physical condition even since he had come home, John slammed it down and strolled over to Mycroft. “Thank you,” he said, with a little cough, “it means a lot. I trust you’ll be leaving now?”

“Yes, naturally. I’ve had the documents sorted out already, so they know to expect you and you will not be asked any questions upon your arrival. They no doubt remember Sherlock as well, he wasn’t the easiest patient.”

Upon the mention of his name, Sherlock strode over.

“Thank you brother, I trust that is all. I’ll notify you when we leave. Until then, goodbye.”

At this Mycroft turned away and slipped into the sleek black car, which vanished almost immediately into the darkness that was beginning to creep over them. Lifting up a bag each, both men looked at each other and began to meander towards the clinic, slowly to give John the time he needed.

They finally got to the heavy wooden doors and stopped.

Sherlock looked over and saw John with closed eyes, preparing himself to face his demons and whatever else necessary inside. Taking a deep breath in, John opened his eyes, looked to Sherlock and gave a small nod of affirmation. Placing one large hand on the door, Sherlock pushed them open.

To the battlefield, John thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the mini hiatus, I've been so busy with school that I just haven't had time, also hence why it is rather short. I hope to be writing more over the Christmas holidays though!


	7. Let us begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John begins his journey to recovery, but in no way will it be a smooth road

Breathe. Just breathe. That was the only thought floating around in Johns head as he braved the hallways, the curious faces looking at him and Sherlock, wondering why they were here and who it was for. He kept his eyes down, focussed on his own two feet shuffling along with Sherlocks large strides and the nurses confident, quick walk. He hadn’t even realised they had stopped, until he heard a faint “John” breaking through the fog in his mind and bringing him back to reality. “John” he heard it one more time, and slowly looked around to see where he was.

They were standing outside a large dark wooden door, secluded from the remaining patients. How had he gotten here? He would need Sherlock to teach him the way around the maze of a building. Suddenly, he felt bad for not saying thank you to the nurse who had guided them here."

I’ve got to say thank you” he muttered, stumbling over his words a bit, “to the nurse.”

Craning his neck around the protective blanket shrouding him which was Sherlock, he whispered “where is she?”

He felt a soft press of tender lips to his neck and relaxed into it. “John, ssshh,it’s okay, I thanked her for us. Lets move into the room, come on. It’s alright”, he said in a deep, calming voice, making John melt inside and causing his anxieties to subside for a while. Nodding slightly, he grabbed his bags and Sherlock turned the key, opening the door into a relatively large, luxurious room.

Mycroft, John thought. Dragging his heavy legs into the room, along with his bags, John turned to Sherlock once more, taking in his appearance for the first time in what felt like days but, was in fact, only half an hour or so.

He looks worried, and it’s all my fault, John thought. Why do I have to be like this? His thoughts turning gradually deeper, the darkness seeping into his mind slightly, he caught Sherlocks eye. Being the ever great detective he was, Sherlock deduced immediately the issue and abandoned his task of finding a home for the key to hug his small blogger.

“John, calm down. Yes I’m worried, but wouldn’t you be? It’s not your fault, I’m so happy you managed to do this. I know how difficult this is. Do you want to lay down for a bit, we can leave unpacking for later?” Sherlock queried, and John gave a tight nod into his shoulder. Guiding John to the bed and laying him down gently, their limbs still interwind with each other, Sherlock wracked his brain for anything to comfort the man who had saved him in so many ways. Now he needed to return the favour.

“John, I understand how difficult this is, and I desperately want to help you. So, please, whenever you feel anything bad, anything at all, whenever, wherever, just pull me over and talk to me. About them, or just simply tell me that you’re not feeling great. You’ve saved me in so many ways, and I need to return the favour. We can leave it tonight,” he added as he felt Johns weight slowly increasing on his body, “but whenever you need me, I am here.” Kissing the top of Johns head, Sherlock also realised how tired he was. They both fell asleep in a matter of minutes, at home in one another's warm embrace. 

A soft knock, accompanied with a whisper of “Boys, you awake” woke John up, and he took a minute to reorientate himself in the darkening room. How long had they been asleep? His voice groggy and sleep-laden, John squeezed Sherlocks shoulder and whispered “ ‘lock. We’ve got to get up love.”

Sherlock roused slightly and clung onto John a bit more. Clearing his throat, he said slightly louder to the nurse outside the door, “Yeah, sorry. We’ll be up in a minute.” Sherlocks eyes cracked open a bit, to the sight of his love sleep rustled, hair spiking up in unusual places, and couldn’t help the adoring smile that crept onto his lips. “I love you John” he declared in his deep, sleepy voice, the voice he knew turned John on a bit. John rolled his eyes and looked over at Sherlock.

“I don’t think nows the time, love. Tonight, when theres less going on in the hallways, is another matter” he said with a smirk, removing himself from the lanky detective who was draped over him. 

John stood in the shower, washing away his drowsiness, as Sherlock began sorting their clothes and finding a home for their belongings. Investigating the room, Sherlock was pleased to find a kettle tucked away in the wardrobe. He changed out of his now creased clothes and put on a shirt and suit trousers.

But not any shirt.

The purple shirt.

As he slipped into it, looking at himself in the mirror, he smirked, remembering the last time he’d worn that particular shirt. Precisely the reason he was wearing it once more. He rolled up the sleeves slightly, his normal style, and left the top few buttons unbuttoned.

Assessing himself once more in the mirror, Sherlock determined he should undo another button. Only a small difference, one that no one would notice. No one except for John, and Sherlock knew it would drive him insane all through the meeting. Smirking once more, he picked up his hair gel in a fruitless attempt to make something presentable out of his hair, but he knew no one here would care, and knew that John would most certainly like it.

That was his aim, he decided, to make everything throughout their stay about John. If John wanted to know about his past, something he suddenly realised they’d never discussed, he would tell him. Guilt began creeping in slightly as, after all they've been through, John still knows very little about him, his past, his experience in such addictions. It was only just to be as open as he hoped John would be.

The warm water seeped into Johns every fibre, relaxing his sore leg and shoulder.

He rolled his neck round, cracking it, as was a habit of his when he was stressed. As much as he tried to let his anxieties about the coming meeting wash away, he couldn’t. Maybe he should talk to Sherlock, maybe Sherlock could calm him.

He rubbed his hands over his face, in a futile attempt to relieve some stress. He leant down to grab the body wash, and thats when he saw it.

The razor.

His eyes were immediately drawn to it, his mind honed in on it, like a magpie drawn to a silver spoon. Everything else was blocked out for a while, and he didn't even know why. A creature of habit, he always had been.

He hadn’t even realised he had brought one, maybe he hadn’t.

Maybe it was Sherlocks.

Irrational thoughts began creeping into his mind, growing in intensity and irrationality. Maybe it was a test, to see if he would go to him for help. Maybe it was a test to see if he was worth the time and effort. He was going to fall at the first hurdle. Weak, as per usual. Never good enough, of course he doesn't want you.

His throat was closing up, he wanted to call to Sherlock for help but he couldn't bring himself too. He could feel his fingers slowly reaching out for the blade. As he did, a quiet, wracked sob forming the word “Sherlock” escaped his lips.

Grasping the blade, he uttered it louder, a final plea for help. “Sherlock”

As he was finding a home for the last of their shirts, Sherlock paused. Had he heard something? The shower was still running quickly. Must have been his mind. A few seconds later, he heard it again, and this time there was no doubt in his mind.

“Sherlock” it was barely audible, but in an instant Sherlock had abandoned his task and was rushing through the door.

“John!” he was saying, his hushed tone urgent, “John are you okay? What’s happened?” he asked, as calmly as he could as the worst possible scenarios rushed through his mind. Yanking open the shower curtain he saw John standing there, something in his hand, his eyes fixated on it. Gently he placed a hand on Johns shoulder, pulling him out of his trance.

“John” he whispered, “it’s alright, it’s okay. Just step out of the shower, that’s it.” As John turned, Sherlock saw his eyes were pink with fear and sorrow etched into his entire being. 

John had heard Sherlock burst into the room, heard his questions, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer. The small blade was clasped securely in his hand still, salty tears he hadn't realised he was crying making their way to his mouth, their taste a worrying truth on his lips. He heard the rustle of the shower curtain as it was ripped open, felt the worry and disappointment in Sherlocks stare.

Yet he was numb, he couldn't bring himself to believe this warped reality that was his life. The feeling of Sherlocks soft, gentle hand brought him back to Earth, grounded him as it always does. His soft, whispered instructions weaved their way into his ear, calming his mind as he mindlessly followed them. He hadn't even realised he’d moved, until he felt the shower no longer beating on his back and the rapid sound of the water hitting the floor cease.

A soft hand was placed on his, another guiding his chin up. When John looked into those magnificent eyes, he saw no disappointment.

“I” he began, but his voice came out raspy. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “I didn't do anything” John declared weakly as he unfolded his hand, the small blade that was once enclosed being proclaimed to the man he loved. The man he trusted with his life. Looking into Sherlocks eyes once more, he saw nothing but pride.

Sherlocks delicate fingers reached into his hand and took the blade, tearing his eyes away from Johns to put it on the side. At this time, John became aware of his nudity, and grabbed a towel to wrap around his lower body.

Turning back around, Sherlock took Johns hand, slowly guiding him into their bedroom. Sitting on the bed, their hands still interwind, Sherlock spoke, his voice cracking slightly with pure emotion.

“John, I am so proud of you. I know how hard it is to turn away from a fix, turn your back on something you desire with your whole being. I never could do that, then or now, yet on your first day you have already shown how strong you are, how much stronger you are than I. I know you know very little of my past, so feel free to ask whatever you wish, whenever you wish, and I will try my hardest to answer you. You are an amazing person, with such willpower I’ve never seen. I am so astoundingly proud of you, and i never want you to think any different. There will be slip ups, and I will be here for you always, just know I’ll never be disappointed.”

Taking a breath and looking into Johns slightly teary eyes, he added, “may I ask, why?”

John took a moment.

He had known the question was coming, of course it was, but he didn't yet know the answer.

Looking into Sherlocks eyes, he saw an unguarded, unadulterated honesty and love, and John decided in that moment that he would stay by this mans side regardless, and knew Sherlock would stand by his. Sucking in a deep breath, he concluded he would simply tell Sherlock of his thoughts during that shower.

“I had seen the blade, and was drawn to it. In that moment I knew there was no avoiding it. I knew I hadn't brought one, so I assumed you had” at this Sherlock frowned slightly, but signalled for John to continue, so he did “and I thought it was a test. You were testing me to see if i was strong enough, if I was worthy of this effort, and it hit me that I wasn’t. That I was weak. That nothing had changed since I was 13, I was still the weak child who couldn't do anything right. I knew I was going to fall at the first hurdle. I don’t think I even intentionally said your name, it just came out. I knew you’d be disappointed in me for being so weak, and god how I wanted to give in.”

John looked down at their hands where they lay, clasped together on the bed.

Swiftly, Sherlock stood up.

John looked up, to see anger in his eyes.

I’ve fucked it up now, he thought. I knew he wouldn't want to stay.

“John,” Sherlock said, “I didn't bring a razor either, and if I had I wouldn't be as careless as to leave it in the shower as you were there, on the day of us arriving.”

As his anger increased, John also stood up. “What are you implying?”

“Come with me” Sherlock proclaimed as he stormed into the bathroom. Ripping open the shower curtain once more in an angry burst, Sherlock investigated the scene.

“No.” he said, his voice strained in an attempt not to shout, as he bent down. And that’s when John saw it.

A camera.

“Mycroft” he whispered in disgust, fear and anger, as the penny dropped.

“It was Mycroft. So it was a test.” John exclaimed, his voice rising quickly in rage.

“John, John I am so sorry. I never thought even he could sink to this level” Sherlock said, raw fury etched into his every word, every movement. He whipped out his phone, dialling furiously in a matter of seconds. Mycroft had just picked up when Sherlock began shouting.

“A TEST. Why on EARTH would you do something so insensitive so utterly, ridiculously STUPID. You put someones LIFE at risk. Not just anyones life, JOHNS” the wrath that was building up in Sherlock unleashing itself.

John was rooted to the spot, paralysed in anger. 

He had no idea how much time had passed, he was still trying to work through it all in his head.

Why? Why would Mycroft do this, sabotage his recovery, at such an early stage as well. He was the one who had helped get him in here, it just didn't make sense.John felt a hand caress his lower back, turning him around. Sherlock was looking down, his eyes pooling in guilt.

“John, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I shouldn't have gone to him, of all people, for help with such a delicate and important matter. But, we have to put this behind us. Yes it was a test, essentially, and as wrong as it was, it showed just how strong and amazing you are.”

Sherlocks deep voice and heartfelt words rippled through John, calming his anger to the point where he could once again move.

“It’s not your fault at all Sherlock, you cannot blame yourself at all for your brothers imbecilic actions. You are, by far, the smarter brother, and I am willing to go down there and show him my feelings about his actions” John said, his voice slowly gaining momentum with his increasing anger. Taking a breath, he looked into Sherlocks eyes and leant in, their lips meeting in a heartwarming explosion of love, their mouths at home on one another.

Sherlock broke away from the intimate kiss for breath and, looking at his watch, cleared his throat and declared

“now John, though I have no objection to being late for this meeting, I do believe it would make a bad impression on yourself, so lets put this briefly behind us, get dressed and get going”leaning in, he whispered “and I’ll give you your reward for your bravery later on” 

John was ready in a matter of minutes and, as he was tying up his laces, queried, “Sherlock, when will we be able to go on trips out of here. Just with this whole,” he gestured vaguely, and Sherlock knew what he was indicating “thing, I kind of need to go to a firing range, and was hoping I could do so today. Do you reckon they’ll allow it?”

Finishing tying his laces, he took Sherlocks hand and began to open the door. As he shut it, Sherlock began talking.

“Well I don’t see why not. I mean, it’s not as if you’d be leaving to acquire substances, and I’d be with you at all times of course. And I’d love to see you shoot, I believe it to be very” he leant in “sexy” he breathed.

John shivered and whispered to Sherlock “Love, as much as I adore you talking dirty,” he smirked “I can’t exactly arrive to this meeting with a hard-on. Won’t make a very good impression, and it’ll give us less chance of escaping to the firing range later. And we wouldn’t want that now would we” he winked.

After walking a few minutes down the corridor a thought hit John, “Sherlock, do you have a bloody clue where we’re going?” he chuckled breathily.

“Naturally, John, as I’ve mentioned previously, I’ve been here before, and honestly, it’s not too hard to figure out.”

Their hands still interwind, Sherlock led them down the happily painted corridors, which were evidently trying to force the ‘don’t be depressed’ message on the patients. They walked in a comfortable silence, as they passed the others rooms, occasionally smiling at other patients but not really taking too much notice as to where things were.

As they neared the white door that inevitably determined Johns path, his hands became slightly more clammy, his breathing slightly shorter and more laboured. Sherlock gave his hand a gentle squeeze, letting John know he wasn't alone, gave him a small smile, and pushed open the door. 

The colours were more neutral here, calming. There were a few chairs, dotted about, of different lengths to allow different amounts of people to sit on them. Sitting on a brown leather armchair in the middle was a relatively young man, late twenties they both assumed. He heard the door swing open, and looked up from his notepad.

Assessing the men, he stood up and made his way over.

“Hello. I’m Michael, and I am here for your initial assessment. Which of you is doctor John Watson?” he asked, flashing a smile.

“That would be me” John declared, his exterior portraying nothing of the war Sherlock knew was raging inside.

“Nice to meet you,” Michael said, shaking Johns hand, “and you must be Mister Holmes?”

Muttering, Sherlock said to both himself and John, “I’d rather not be associated with that monster at this minute, and louder declared “Sherlock, please” with a smile whilst shaking Michaels hand.

Gesturing to a seat, the men sat down and, with a more serious expression, Michael said, “Right. Let us begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm SO sorry it's been so long, I'm trying, I really am. I hope you enjoyed it, and please leave comments saying what you'd like me to consider including, and how I could improve, or just anything really, I'd love to know :)

**Author's Note:**

> i really hope you enjoyed this, it's my first work so ah.   
> check out my tumblr; http://legendwaitforitdarymoonpie.tumblr.com


End file.
